A/N: I wrote this poem on July 27, 2008, when I was 14.


It's just past midnight
And I'm still sitting here
In this place where I've always been

The clock is so politically correct
Blood-tinted grains of rice
Still form the numerals on its face

I feel sick sometimes, and yet
There is something deep inside
Pulling at my tired heart

Those numbers keep on changing
Nothing to look forward to
I've seen them all before

Still I cling to a faint hope
Dreams get in the way of my head
I just can't stop believing

But the numbers march onward
They have a schedule to follow
And we can only pray for distraction